


3 Words or Less

by fairietailed



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairietailed/pseuds/fairietailed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Keith,” Pidge says, resting their elbow on the table and their chin on the palm of their hand. “Describe Lance in three words or less.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Lance lets out a squawk of protest. “What are you even talking about?! You know exactly who I am!”</p><p>Keith doesn’t look at him. “I’m unfamiliar with the name.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Words or Less

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [3 Palavras ou Menos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791834) by [Perhappiness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perhappiness/pseuds/Perhappiness)



“Job applications are stupid,” Lance says from across the room, and Pidge hums in acknowledgement. “I mean, what kind of questions are these?”

“What are they asking?” Pidge asks, and Lance leans a bit closer to his computer monitor, squinting.

“‘Describe yourself in 3 words or less’.”

“That is dumb,” Pidge says, and Lance lets out a groan as he closes his laptop and slides it across the kitchen table.

“I’m done with applications for the day. Done, I tell you.”

“You’re never going to find another job that way.”

“Whatever, Pidge! I already have a job, so it’s not like I’m short on cash!”

“You’re just miserable, and you complain to me about it constantly, all day, every day.”

“Yes, exactly,” Lance says, standing at his spot at the table and stretching his arms above his head. “Now let’s go drink. Call the guys, see if they can come.”

Pidge rolls their eyes, but sends out a group text anyway.

* * *

“Seriously?”

Lance stares at Keith from across the table. Keith stares back.

“What?”

“No one else could come?”

Pidge slides into the booth next to him, jostling him over in the seat.

“Hunk is out with Shay and Shiro is out with Allura,” Pidge says. “Do you really want the group mom and dad being all coupley over here? And do you  _ really _ want Hunk and Shay to sit here talking about rocks and technology and other crazy stuff all night?”

“Pidge,  _ you _ talk about rocks and technology and other crazy stuff literally all the time.”

“Yeah, but what I talk about is actually really cool,” Pidge says, shrugging. Lance hums.

“Fair enough.”

Keith is silent, sipping on his beer. Lance looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Do you have anything to say in this situation?”

“Not really, no,” Keith shrugs, and Lance lets his head fall onto the table.

It’s silent for a moment, before Pidge hums in thought beside Lance.

“What did you say earlier?”

“What?”

Pidge swirls their drink in their glass, contemplative. “The three words or less thing. What did you say?”

Lance is quiet for a minute before he shrugs. “I quit before I could think of anything. Why?”

“I’m just wondering,” Pidge says, though the glint in their glasses says that they’re up to no good. “How  _ would _ you describe yourself in three words or less?”

“Well,” Lance stutters a bit, rotating in the booth so that his left thigh is on the seat, his arm thrown over the back of the cushion. “How would  _ you _ describe  _ yourself _ ?”

“Brilliant, charismatic and determined,” Pidge fires off with zero hesitation, and Lance chokes a bit.

“More like egotistical, conniving and  _ sneaky _ !” Lance says, jumping a bit in his seat. Across the table, Keith laughs into his beer.

“Well you never answered my question,” Pidge says. “How would you describe yourself?”

“Besides handsome, amazing and wonderful?” Lance scoffs before becoming serious, genuinely thinking out an answer. “I dunno. Maybe loyal, trustworthy and goal-oriented.”

“That’s two words,” Keith points out, and Lance frowns.

“It has a hyphen in it. It’s one word.”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“Is not.”

“Is to-”

“Keith,” Pidge interrupts, resting their elbow on the table and their chin on the palm of their hand. “Describe Lance in three words or less.”

“Who?”

The table is silent for a moment, Keith giving Pidge a deadpan stare over the rim of his glass, and Lance’s jaw nearly on the floor. It’s silent, at least, until Pidge starts laughing.

Lance lets out a squawk of protest. “What are you even talking about?! You know exactly who I am!”

Keith doesn’t look at him. “I’m unfamiliar with the name.”

Lance squirms on his side of the booth, irritated. “That’s not even three words!”

“Pidge said ‘or less’.”

“I did say that,” Pidge says between bouts of laughter, and Lance nearly slams his hand onto the table.

“Not you too!” He clicks his tongue, sinking down into the booth and pouting.

But from across the table, Lance swears he catches Keith smile.

* * *

The game runs on well into the night.

It becomes a battle of speed between Pidge and Keith, in which Pidge would throw out a number and Keith would throw something out as quickly as possible. Lance, for obvious reasons, did not like this game very much.

“2 words,” Pidge fires off, and Keith doesn’t even blink.

“Cargo pilot.”

Lance chokes on his beer.

(He can’t remember what number he’s on. Is that a bad thing?)

Pidge snorts. “Okay. 4 words.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Recycled,” Lance calls out, but Pidge waves him off.

“3 words.”

“Not very cute.”

This one earns another squawk of protest from Lance, who slams his glass onto the table and leans onto his elbows to better leverage himself to Keith’s eyelevel. Not that he needs to try very hard... Keith is actually shorter than he is.

So he lowers himself a bit instead.

“I’ll have you know,” he says, words a bit run together. “That I am  _ very _ cute, thank you.”

Keith shrugs, downing the rest of his beer.

(Does anyone remember what number he’s on, either?)

Pidge lets out a breath of laughter, changing the subject to the new laptop they’d bought last week.

* * *

Nearly two hours and many, many drinks later, Lance stares at a flushed Keith from across the table.

“How would you describe yourself?”

The words are very blended, a colorful display of all of the alcohol he’s consumed tonight, but Keith seems to understand him well enough.

“Probably talented. Quick.... Uh, maybe cool?”

Lance snorts, swaying a bit in his seat. His head feels heavy. He wants to lay it down.

“Mophhmurphmuffmphphff.”

“What?”

Lance lifts his head off of the table a bit. (When had he laid it down?)

“I said that’s very untrue.”

“Then how would  _ you _ describe me?” Keith asks, jabbing a finger in Lance’s direction.

Lance ticks the words off on his fingers.

“Big. Fat. Jerk.”

He expects anger. Maybe annoyance, maybe for Keith to fire something back at him that would start a whole new round of petty back-and-forth.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is for Keith to laugh.

His cheeks are pink as he covers his mouth with his hand, eyes squeezed shut as he giggles and leans backward in the booth, sliding down a bit in his chair. The corner of his eyes crinkle, and he snorts a bit as he laughs.

It’s suddenly very hot in the bar, Lance thinks.

“That’s funny,” Keith slurs out, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up with his knuckles. He looks at Lance, the remnants of a smile still fading on his face. “You’re funny.”

Lance isn’t sure he can stand anymore.

(It’s a good thing he’s sitting.)

Suddenly Pidge pipes up beside Lance, who jumps nearly a foot into the air.

“2 words.”

Keith hums a bit, twitching his nose back and forth like Samantha from Bewitched.

(Lance thinks about how much he likes Samantha from Bewitched.)

“He’s alright.”

Lance chokes.

* * *

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“No,  _ you’ve _ had enough.”

“Lance, please. You don’t need another drink.”

“Pidge, please, I do what I  _ want _ .”

Lance holds his beer a bit higher, out of Pidge’s reach. They narrow their eyes, but take a step back and shrug instead of pursuing the glass.

“You’ve both had way too much, you know.”

“No we haven’t,” Lance says, sticking his tongue out at Pidge.

“Keith,” Pidge calls, and from the booth a few feet away Keith lets out a hum of acknowledgement. He’s half-asleep on the table, his forehead resting against his forearms. Lance decides that he wants to run his fingers through Keith’s hair, in a totally platonic, not weird way.

“One word.”

Keith is silent for a moment, and Lance thinks for half a second that he might have fallen asleep. But then he says his word.

“Cute.”

Lance nearly drops his beer.

“Did you say cute?!”

It comes out as more of a screech than a question, all one word with very little pause. Keith lifts his head, holding up the side of his face with his hand, a flush running across his cheeks and the ridge of his nose. He looks in the opposite direction of the bar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lance makes a noise that sounds awfully close to that of a dying whale. The corners of Keith’s mouth twitch upward into a smile.

Lance can practically feel the arrow flying straight through his heart.

“2 words,” Pidge says from beside him.

Keith doesn’t hesitate. “Pretty eyes.”

Lance staggers back a step.

“3 words,” Pidge continues, looking at their nails in mock-interest.

Keith hums. “Really cute smile.”

Lance grips at the chair next to him, clutching his chest like one of those grandmas in a Life Alert commercial.

“4 words,” Pidge practically sighs.

Keith full on grins. “I like his voice.”

Lance isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

“5 words,” Pidge rolls their eyes.

Keith is quiet for a split-second pause before answering. “I want to kiss him.”

Lance has figured out his limit.

“6 words,” Pidge’s grin nearly reaches their ears, and Lance is worried about the fact that they might be using this against Lance later. But he’s too focused on other things to care too much right now.

Keith whines a bit, and Lance goes weak in the knees.

“I  _ really  _ want to kiss him.”

Lance sets his beer down on the table, taking a few steps forward.

“7 words.”

“I really,  _ really _ want to kiss him.”

Lance can’t breathe.

“8 words.”

“I really want to kiss him  _ right now _ .”

And as Keith looks up at him, pouting and desperate, Lance receives his finishing blow.

“One word, Keith,” Pidge calls, turning on their heel and walking to the other side of the bar, waving behind them as they leave.

Keith turns to face Lance, cheeks flushed and voice nearly trembling.

“Please?”

Lance sees stars.

He’s on his knees now, on the side of the booth, Keith looking down at him from his seat at the table. He has no idea if it’s the alcohol, or the lighting, or even just the fact that he’s been completely K.O.ed way too many times tonight by Keith and his absolutely beautiful face, but as he looks up at Keith above him, he can think of the three words he’d use to describe Keith.

“Infuriating. Amazing. Breathtaking.”

“What are those?” Keith asks, leaning down to nearly meet Lance’s eyelevel.

“You,” he responds, and he leans up another half an inch, nearly meeting Keith’s lips. He can feel Keith’s breath, can practically taste the alcohol on his lips, can practically  _ breathe _ all of him in-

Until the vertigo hits, and he’s raring back, spinning in the opposite direction, throwing up on the floor.

Keith watches him, eyes wide, gasping. And then he’s laughing, holding onto the booth for support and wheezing as he clutches his sides, swaying on the spot and having to try and calm down in order to steady himself so he doesn’t end up just as sick.

“Y-you... Your face.... I’m sorry... you just....”

Lance knows he should be annoyed. Knows he should be upset at the missed opportunity, should beat least a little bit bitter about not getting to kiss Keith the way he wanted.

But as he watches Keith laugh in the booth, face flushed and eyes squeezed shut, eyes crinkled around the edges, he thinks that it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s seen in years, and he doesn’t really mind the missed opportunity.

* * *

Until the next morning, when Pidge punches his arm until it’s numb and begins cursing about “a waste of a perfect setup, I’m never trying to help you again.”

Then he regrets it a little.

**Author's Note:**

> everyone should look at this fantastic art by tumblr user cynicallyneautral because I am crying it's so amazing
> 
> http://cynicallyneutral.tumblr.com/post/150544291223/based-off-of-this-fic-please-read-it-its-so
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!!
> 
> Come yell with me about space nerds at my Tumblr @fairietailed ~


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